


Your Silver Garden (Kimi no Gin no Niwa)

by MidoriKurenaiYume



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Platonic Romance, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidoriKurenaiYume/pseuds/MidoriKurenaiYume
Summary: Young widow Arturia travels to a faraway land with her son Mordred, to become the governess for the King's children.GilArt AU based on The King and I.





	Your Silver Garden (Kimi no Gin no Niwa)

**Author's Note:**

> Mainly inspired by the 1956 movie "The King and I", but of course with many variations. There's a young male!Mordred in this fic ;)  
> NOTE: some sentences regarding culture and customs are completely based on the movie, therefore I hope they won't sound offensive :((
> 
> Title: from a Kalafina song, their 14th single. Credit goes to the canta-per-me forum for translating the lyrics ;))
> 
> Even though it was difficult, I absolutely loved writing this story, and I dedicate it to my dear friend Christy :D thank you so much for always listening to my ideas and giving suggestions and encouragement!!!  
> 

...

...

_What is the truth?_

...

...

Arturia took out the maps she was going to use for the lesson and slowly spread them out, one after the other, as she had started to do every day once she had found out that none of the King’s children had anything above a basic knowledge of geography. Since she had also discovered that hers were the only detailed maps and atlases in the castle, she was extremely careful in putting them away every evening.

The King had reluctantly agreed to have his scribes start to copy them, but only because she refused to give them up. She was going to leave in about a fortnight to go back to England, and while she had had several heated fights with the King over it, she had been unwavering in insisting that her maps were going to leave with her.

She had after all been there for an entire year, during which all her books had been copied and her instructions on the education of the children had been noted; there was therefore no need for her personal belongings to remain there, and neither did _she_ have any reason to stay any longer for that matter.

That was at least what she had been telling herself repeatedly during the past few weeks. The King had started with a few hints, then suggestions, and finally direct orders for her to stay another year or more. But she had reminded him of his written promise, the letter she had received from him in England, in which he had specified that her presence as a teacher was requested for exactly one year, promising her a safe passage in and out of his Middle Eastern country under those terms.

She had respected all of his terms and she had spent a full year in his lands, learning quite a bit about them and giving lessons on all subjects to his many children. She was now ready to head back to her homeland, and the King had given her his word that he would allow her to leave. A promise that, just the day before, he had grudgingly confirmed he was going to honour.

Arturia’s hands stopped briefly over the map – the largest one – she had just unrolled against one wall, her fingers lightly brushing against the shape of the British island surrounded by the sea. She had been away from it for a year, but while she had sometimes missed it, she had never longed to be back, nor had she ever regretted coming to this foreign land.

To be completely honest, she didn’t regret having met its King either.

When she had received the letter requesting her presence as a teacher, she had just taken her leave from a rich, noble family whose three children had all become of age and who therefore no longer needed her help as a governess. She was consequently free and without any other immediate possibility of employment; that was the main reason why she had decided to accept.

Her son, Mordred, had just turned eleven and was old enough to come with her on such a long journey, which was a point in favour of her decision, together with the fact that she held some curiosity about the mysterious lands in the Middle East as well.

She was also becoming tired of the constant subtle hints she kept receiving about marrying again. A widow with a child was a respectable position in society and since she had gained a positive reputation as a governess, there wasn’t any malicious talk about her, but the families she worked for always ended up making veiled comments about her relatively young age. She had always managed to politely pay no attention to such remarks, but they were becoming insisting, which meant that travelling abroad for a while wouldn’t therefore be a bad idea.

Before leaving, she had admonished Mordred about the fact that they were going to meet a completely different culture and had impressed upon him that, no matter how strange it would be in their eyes, they needed to be respectful of it. At the same time, she reminded him that they had the right to form their own opinions, even though they had to be careful about whom they expressed them to.

Arturia knew that the King wasn’t married, but he had dozens of concubines and at least twice as many children. As there were no capable instructors – or rather, none as qualified as the King wanted them to be – he had requested her presence to teach his offspring everything she could over the course of one year.

She had agreed to do that and had actually been pleasantly surprised to find out that all the children – and even some of the concubines – were very willing to learn. Therefore, she didn’t find it difficult to organize the lessons and divide them by age to make sure all the princes and princesses reached a proper level of education.

What was instead much more complicated was dealing with the King himself.

...

...

_Did you realize it?_

...

...

The King did not receive her the moment she arrived, as he was holding his weekly meetings with his subjects, who could ask him to pass judgment on any kind of issue they wished to present to him. Within a short while, however, the audiences were finished, and Arturia met the person who had requested she sail to his country to give his children a proper education.

He was a tall, blond man who wore very little. His few clothes, all very finely decorated, hung loosely from his body, showing off most of his naked chest yet at the same time managing to follow his every movement as if they were part of him. Even though he was barefoot and wore no crown, authority radiated off him and it was clear that he was a person who could be truly dangerous if crossed. In spite of all that, what immediately captured Arturia’s attention were his sharp, intimidating crimson eyes, which were scrutinizing her closely.

She had to control her instinctual reaction of stiffening under that piercing gaze, and merely held Mordred’s hand more firmly.

She was wearing boots and a simple, practical dark blue travelling dress, buttoned up to her collar. She was well aware of the fact that it wasn’t the most flattering to her body, especially since it clung to her forms that had become slightly softer and more pronounced after childbirth, but as it was extremely practical for the journey, she repudiated the instinct to fidget even though she didn’t look very sophisticated. Next to her, Mordred was fighting to remain motionless and not hide in her gowns, but she could feel his hand trembling in hers.

Belatedly remembering her manners, she offered a small bow.

“Thank you for receiving us, Your Majesty. I am Arturia Pendragon, the teacher you summoned, and this is my son, Mordred.”

She felt some pride when her son bowed as well and didn’t squirm under those penetrant crimson eyes. She discreetly squeezed his hand in encouragement.

“You arrived two days late,” the King said calmly, his voice sounding strangely bored.

Before she could open her mouth or even think of a reply, he went on, “But I am aware of the fact that you didn’t always find good weather during your journey.”

His eyes were back on her, and she stared at him, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. She had already offered a bow, she wasn’t going to do more than that unless he earned it.

“You didn’t mention having a child,” he surprisingly added then.

Arturia’s eyebrows rose, and this time Mordred did grasp at her gowns, obviously frightened.

“In the letter I wrote to convey my acceptance of your terms, I did mention my son, and I made it clear that he would be coming with me,” she objected, her tone polite but firm.

The King’s eyes narrowed and flashed dangerously at her. Arturia did not blink, refusing to be intimidated. Mordred’s hands tightened on her clothes, and she brought her arm around his shoulders briefly, holding him closer.

Unexpectedly, the King suddenly smirked. If possible, that made him look even more dangerous.

“I see that you are no liar and you aren’t afraid to stand your ground. Be welcome to my lands, the beautiful lands belonging to King Gilgamesh.” His eyes were now gleaming on her. “You will make an excellent teacher to my children… provided you learn to show more respect when you speak to me.”

Arturia stared at him, slowly beginning to realize that what had just transpired had been a small test on the King’s part, as he had obviously been fully aware of her son’s presence but had wanted to see how she would react if he questioned the contents of her letter. She had apparently passed the test, but when she absorbed his last words, she had to make a conscious effort in holding back a scowl.

She knew that if she said anything she was going to be rude, therefore she opted for silence instead. She did not nod nor shake her head in reply, which she was sure the King noticed, but he chose not to comment on it either.

His new smirk however told her that he found it amusing _and_ he wasn’t going to forget about it at the same time.

As she followed him inside the private quarters of the palace and was shown her rooms – and managed to calm Mordred, who had really been quite scared – she silently considered that, if their first meeting was anything to go by, her relationship with the foreign King was going to be… peculiar, to say the least.

...

...

_Nobody knows yet_

...

...

She wasn’t mistaken in her assumption.

While she came to learn the customs of the foreign country and became fond of the children, who were very curious about her and eager to learn – and who became close friends with Mordred almost instantly – she also had to deal with the King, who enjoyed appearing out of nowhere and often managed to catch her by surprise.

When she had attempted to object to this, he had simply made it a new rule that she was to spend some time in his presence every day.

Contrary to most people in his lands, he had had a very good education and, on top of that, owned an immense library. Not many people could read, and there weren’t enough of those who had the time or patience to teach others to do so – hence, the solution was to call someone whose _job_ was to teach others. Arturia had one year to teach the King’s children as much as she could and plan in detail what books they needed to read to further their education once she was gone.

That was a task that didn’t present an issue, as it was what she was good at after all; but the frequent, sudden appearances of the King were what disrupted her otherwise peaceful days. He had a habit of turning up in the most unexpected places and spend always at least a few minutes in her presence.

From what the children – princes and princesses – told her, Arturia learned that it wasn’t unusual for him to do so, as he always took the time to see each and every one of them rather often, in spite of all the kingdom’s duties he had to look after.

And while conversations with him were usually unpredictable and sometimes even puzzling, she had to admit that they never turned dull. He could ask abrupt questions about any subject, prompting her to always be on her guard when he was around, and he genuinely seemed to enjoy taking her aback and talking with her for long hours.

From what she observed in his behaviour as weeks and then months went by, she could conclude that he was a person who lost interest once what he was focused on became stale or repetitive, and seemed to only bestow his attention on what he deemed worthy of it. His focus was then usually short-lived and never constant.

It was therefore strange that this habit of his didn’t seem to apply to her specific case.

...

...

_Come close quietly_

...

...

If she had hoped to avoid the questions about her status as a widow in this foreign land, she found out that her hopes were misguided.

The King had no qualms about bluntly asking, one late morning when she had just finished a lesson with his eldest children, why she wasn’t looking for a good match.

She turned around to face him, calmly replying, “I’m not looking for another marriage because I already had one.”

He tilted his head to the side, sharp crimson eyes filling with slight contempt.

“Did you love your first husband so much that you can’t bear the thought of replacing him?”

His tone was deliberately aiming to provoke her, she knew this, and he was clearly implying that he was fully aware of the fact that she hadn’t been in love with her late husband.

She fought to remain composed and took a deep breath to calm herself. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of managing to make her lose her temper, as it was obviously what he was trying to do.

To his taunts, she could after all answer with pure honesty.

“I don’t think I loved him. But I respected him and I felt comfortable around him.” She paused briefly, noticing that the King seemed extremely pleased by her being so direct, but then continued, “He was a good person. And in many ways, I miss him.”

Thinking about him made her features contract slightly, and the King’s expression became illegible as he scoffed.

“ _He_ loved you, didn’t he?”

Her reply was immediate.

“No, he did not,” she said simply, and gave him a level-headed glance. “He _accepted_ me, for who I am, with my flaws and my imperfections, with my temper and my aloofness, he accepted all of me. He accepted and _respected_ me for who I am, as his friend. I have never met anyone else who was capable of that.”

She suddenly seemed to recall that he was standing in front of her, his crimson eyes boring into her green ones. She stared back at him. “I understand that these must seem foreign concepts to you, Your Highness.”

The fact that he didn’t show any reaction told her that, perhaps, her opening up about her past was the objective he had had all along, and had therefore manipulated her into admitting all this to him.

The look he gave her was strange, and she decided that there was no point in holding back, adding drily, “Probably same as your custom of having a harem of women chosen for beauty and fertility is a foreign concept to me.”

This he conceded with a slight nod, acknowledging the fact that their cultures were too different to even attempt a comparison between what was common in one part of the world and was unthinkable in another.

His expression was however a mix between thoughtful and intense.

“There are differences in thinking in every place, I suppose that is irrefutable,” he offhandedly pointed out, making her raise both eyebrows at his unexpected honesty, which mirrored hers. “Yet the only concept that I could identify as foreign is the one of love in matrimony.”

His eyes flashed, making her widen hers in wariness, since she couldn’t decipher his meaning, and he leaned forward. “And even though you are from a faraway country, it seems that it signifies nothing. Different cultures don’t necessarily mean that one holds more knowledge than the other.”

Had he come any closer, their faces would have touched. “You may have been married, a custom that is supposed to bind together two people in love, yet you have no knowledge of that kind of love.”

He leaned even closer to her, and this time, his nose touched her cheek. “Which means that your society is a _lie_ about marriage,” he almost whispered. “The concept of having concubines is not considered respectable in your society? Perhaps there is truth to it not being considered decorous in the eyes of people who think themselves morally superior – but there is at least one undeniable merit to it.”

He grinned, and his teeth almost grazed her lips. “It’s _not_ a lie. It’s not _fake_ like the loveless marriages other societies attempt to sanctify.”

Arturia finally shook herself out of the stunned daze she had found herself in when he had leaned so close to her, and took an abrupt step back. She glared at him with all her might, barely managing to control her hands that were itching to slap him across the face, or strangle him, whatever worked.

His expression was still impossible to understand, but he did not look fazed by her retreat. He was staring at her calmly, obviously having said what he wanted to say and not deeming it necessary to push her more.

With one last dark look, she turned around and left the room.

...

...

_The lies and griefs of a kind person_

...

...

Their interactions continued as usual after that strange conversation because, even though they didn’t bring it up again, they didn’t stop having discussions about other subjects.

He caught up with her weeks later when she was in the garden. She was admiring it, as it was truly a wonderful place, when he appeared by her side without a sound, almost making her jump when he suddenly addressed her.

“How do you enjoy the Golden Garden?” he inquired, his tone deceptively monotonous.

“It’s beautiful,” she answered truthfully. Then, taking advantage of his presence, she asked, “Does that particular name come from the majority of the plants being yellow in colour and almost sparkling under the sun?”

He gave her a rather amused glance and then grinned, seemingly deciding to grant her a reply.

“Indeed. The sun gives it prosperity, and under its rays the main colour is gold.” His grin widened. “Of course, during the night, the colour becomes silvery under the light of the moon – therefore, a Silver Garden.”

Arturia frowned as she turned to face him once again, as she had been looking around while he talked.

“You are aware, I hope,” she began, her tone unconsciously becoming very close to the one she used during lessons, “that the moon is what we call a satellite and therefore doesn’t produce its own light?”

For the first time, the King looked mildly bewildered by her words. They both knew perfectly well that he had extensive knowledge in astronomy and therefore her question had been rhetorical, but the fact that she had brought it up managed to make him chuckle in amazement.

“There isn’t an ounce of poetry or romance in you, is there, Ms. Arturia?”

She raised both eyebrows.

“I’ve obviously learned about poetry, but I couldn’t and can’t produce any of my own. As for romance, I’m a widow with a growing child. My time for romance is over.”

“Your time for romance has never come,” he contradicted her, and Arturia struggled to conceal her emotions.

His hand reached forward, almost grazing her cheek, but she intercepted it firmly, holding it in an iron grip.

“I’d rather not be lectured by a man who only knows passion and lust rather than romance,” she said coldly.

Then realizing that she was tightly squeezing the King’s wrist, she released it and took a step back. “Let us resume our walk through the garden in peace.”

She could feel his dissatisfaction as he walked next to her, but for a long while, they proceeded in silence. Arturia was glad for the flourishing trees, as they distracted her and made sure she did not glance in the King’s direction at all.

“The Golden Garden and the Silver Garden are one and the same,” he suddenly pointed out, tone calm and relaxed. “Yet they will never meet, never be together.”

It seemed to her that he was hinting at something different from the garden, but she wasn’t certain she grasped his meaning. She had never been quick to read between the lines, which was why she preferred people stating things clearly.

Her response was therefore dispassionate.

“Indeed, they are as different as night and day, and as such, can never coexist.”

She could feel the King’s eyes briefly landing on her because his gaze was intense, but he then looked away again and changed the subject.

“Two of my concubines are pregnant again,” he informed her offhandedly. “I will soon have more children.”

She stopped, glancing towards him and then questioning, earnest curiosity in her voice, “Should I offer my congratulations?”

He seemed to consider the question seriously, and then nodded, smirking openly as he turned to face her.

“It would be appropriate,” he approved, looking at her with a slightly raised eyebrow, clearly expecting her immediate reply.

Arturia managed to keep her expression neutral as she gave a few perfunctory words to express her felicitations about the upcoming blessing, and then resumed walking through the garden with him.

She was taken aback when he didn’t drop the subject this time.

“While new princes or princesses are always ready to be welcomed, this development means that I have two less concubines for a while.”

Arturia chose to ignore his complaining and focused instead on the technical aspect of what he was saying. After all, she knew about his open sex life and while she was reluctant to be equally open, she had been married and, as a governess and teacher, had more familiarity with the subject of anatomy than she actually wished to have.

“That isn’t strictly true,” she objected. “As long as there aren’t complications in the pregnancies and as long as it’s consensual,” she knew that he didn’t take concubines that were unwilling, but that wasn’t going to stop her warning, and her green eyes flashed as she pierced him under a hard glare, “being with child doesn’t prevent sexual intercourse. Sometimes it actually makes it even more enjoyable.”

To her surprise, he didn’t seem to concentrate on what she was telling him about his concubines, instead seeming intrigued by her having such knowledge about it.

“Do you speak from experience?” he nonchalantly asked her, his crimson eyes conveying all his amusement as he examined her face carefully.

He had half-expected her to freeze, but she didn’t, simply staring back at him. She did however remain quiet for a moment before replying.

“My… my husband died before he even knew that I was with child,” she said briefly, and her expression remained blank.

The King considered her for a while, not saying anything until he suddenly pointed out, “The boy never knew his father then.”

Knowing that he was talking about Mordred, Arturia nodded.

He went on, his statement confusing her, “That explains why in some ways he looks at male adults with curiosity and why you are so worried about him living in this society, and why you constantly try to protect him.”

Arturia rose both eyebrows as she kept walking, not even knowing where she was going, and the King took it as his cue to continue, his tone halfway between amused and contemplative, “You don’t want him to find the wrong role model among the adults here.”

To his slight wonder, she did not deny it and only had to struggle briefly with herself before replying truthfully, “I don’t mean offense towards your culture, but it’s not the one my son will grow up in. Things are different in England, where we will be again in a few months, and I don’t want him to learn your habits.” She seemed to reconsider her words and then added, “Learn about their existence, yes – but I don’t want him to copy them.”

She seemed pensive as she absentmindedly brushed against yet another golden flower. “Please do not mistake my words for a reproach. Cultures are different and while some things would be improper where I come from, it doesn’t mean that they are wrong.”

She was trying hard to be as fair as possible, he could read it clearly on her face, but then she decided to add, with a wry smile, “The one thing that I will point out is that here, you drink far too much wine.”

He grinned widely and took her arm to graciously help her over a few steps.

“I would instead emphasize the fact that you drink too little,” he countered, managing to get a startled glance from her.

Before she could think of a suitable retaliation, he abruptly accused her, “You may want to protect your child, but you are starting to suffocate him with your worries, and you’re also refusing to have faith in his intelligence.”

His voice wasn’t harsh, but Arturia looked as if he had struck her.

“Of course you shouldn’t leave him alone, but he should, and _can_ , watch and observe and form his own opinion on what he sees. Your son loves and trusts you,” he added, his tone becoming undefinable, “therefore he will spontaneously come and talk with you about the conclusions he reaches.”

The King’s expression turned to slightly teasing as he finished, “This is all completely obvious. It’s not a matter of culture this time, Ms. Arturia,” he specified, seeming even more amused, “just _character_. And you are so deeply on edge about making mistakes in your son’s upbringing that you are forgetting that he is a person, not a piece of clay to be moulded.”

His hand reached forward, grasping a rebellious lock of her hair that had managed to escape her chignon. “It’s again what I told you,” his tone was confident, “while you are not fake like most of the customs from your culture, you are not used to being honest with your feelings either – in this case, the genuine love you have for your son.” He tugged at her lock lightly, then letting it escape his fingers. “Let him know, otherwise he will push you away when he grows up.”

Arturia almost slapped his hand away as she finally recovered her voice, and managed, albeit with great difficulty, to keep her face carefully blank.

“If you don’t even understand love and show to care little for your own children, how could you understand and even pass judgement on my own behaviour?”

Her voice was completely colourless, but he took it as an invitation.

“I never claimed and never will claim closeness with my children, but I will _always_ protect them and they will not be neglected,” he replied simply, then continued to rectify her sentence, “And I said I don’t understand the love one is supposed to have in matrimony, not other kinds of love.”

His eyes flashed with something strange. “Don’t misunderstand me and, most importantly, don’t do it _wilfully_.”

He offered her his arm again, and once she took it, after a long moment of hesitation, they spent the rest of the walk through the garden in silence.

...

...

_With a heart that might be insufficient_

...

...

Shaking herself from her memories, Arturia’s eyes travelled around the room, only pausing briefly on the window, the only barrier between her and the garden. Just a few days before, when her son had made a comment on how beautiful those gardens were, she had told him about the Golden and Silver Garden, something he had found deeply fascinating. Forcing herself to focus on the present, Arturia finished arranging the rest of the maps.

To her slight surprise, Mordred strolled in. He was of course following her lessons too, but on this day, he had come there a bit early. He helped arrange the last chairs near the entrance of the room they had dubbed ‘classroom’ and then sat down on one of them.

Suddenly, he questioned, “Mother, is the King’s example truly not be followed in anything at all?”

Arturia felt herself tense slightly, even while she inwardly told herself that she should have seen this coming. After the debate with the King in the gardens and giving it considerable thought, she had reluctantly followed his advice – if one could call it that – and encouraged her son to talk more to her and discuss things with her. She was trying hard to pay more attention to what _Mordred_ wanted and less to what _she_ wanted for him.

If, however, Mordred intended to make King Gilgamesh a sort of role model, it meant that she had neglected his education more than she should. She briefly wondered if allowing him to spend so much time with the princes and princesses had something to do with that.

Putting down one of her dictionaries, she stared straight at him.

“Mordred,” she told him sharply. “Do not learn any kind of ‘proper’ behaviour from the King. Most importantly, do _not_ learn from him in his behaviour towards women.”

Mordred looked strangely contemplative as he stood up, coming to sit in the front row and playing with the wooden backrest of another chair.

“I have been wondering about why you said that, Mother,” he then said slowly, seeming quite pensive. “The King has many concubines, but he is not cruel towards them. He doesn’t beat them and generally treats them well.”

Arturia brought out the white stone – it substituted chalk – which she was going to use to write on the board as she turned to face him.

“That is part of the reason,” she explained slowly. “He is not respectful of women as human beings in their own right.”

Mordred looked pensive again. He believed he understood what his mother meant, because he had been told from the beginning that there was a difference in the cultures between England and the Middle Eastern kingdom, but he wasn’t entirely certain about what Arturia was trying to say.

“As for relegating women to the role of concubines only, I understand what you mean, Mother, and I agree,” he began. “It’s demeaning to witness, and I know that it’s only because we are guests here that you refrain from speaking out against this custom. However, when you claim that the King is disrespectful, I don’t follow you.” His dark red eyes were full of genuine curiosity. “He never disrespected _you_.”

Arturia’s eyebrows rose for a moment before she managed to control herself and an expression of dry amusement appeared on her face.

“You would call his behaviour towards me _respectful_ _?_ ”

Mordred frowned at her tone.

“Contrary to many lords in England, he listens to everything you say and discusses things openly with you. That proves that he respects your opinion.”

“He orders me around and sometimes coerces me into doing his bidding – I don’t see that as a good example to follow,” she countered wryly.

“I don’t think I will follow it,” Mordred replied, to her slight surprise. “But I do not see what is wrong in his general behaviour. The King shows that he appreciates your presence here.”

Arturia barely held back a small scoff, not very happy with the conclusions her son had reached.

“He enjoys questioning everything I do, nothing else. He doesn’t show to appreciate anything I do for the sake of his kingdom.”

“He desires you, Mother,” Mordred said candidly. Arturia’s head turned towards him so fast that her white stone almost fell from her hand. “He’s always looking at you. But he would never touch you unless you asked him to.”

“That will never happen,” Arturia snapped, forgetting to deny Mordred’s words in her discomfort; remembering it a second later though, she added, “Mordred, I believe you are reading too much into things. Having plenty of concubines of Asian descent, he has become bored and is now looking into something new. My different complexion and ethnicity are momentarily holding his attention, but everything is fleeting in his eyes, therefore this fascination is temporary as well.”

Mordred seemed curious.

“You wouldn’t want him, Mother?”

Arturia’s eyes became slits, and Mordred gulped.

“You are becoming far too forward with your words, Mordred. Society in England is different and does not tolerate such questions. As part of that society, neither do I.”

Mordred lowered his head, knowing he had pushed too far, and with honest contrition murmured, “I’m sorry, Mother.”

She dismissed him with a nod of her head, and Mordred stood up, nodding back.

He was almost at the door when she called him back. While she didn’t want her son to look up to the King, she had to be fair.

“Mordred, the King isn’t a man without merits,” she acknowledged slowly. “But he is incapable of truly understanding people from different cultures, much less _accepting_ anyone who doesn’t bend to his will. I am not used to submitting to anyone’s authority without upholding my pride, and that is something that is considered an anomaly here, therefore something that can be equally irritating and attractive. It’s sometimes thrilling, especially for a man with his different morals, to find someone who won’t give in to him.”

She paused, her eyes seeming suddenly tired. “That’s the reason for his staring at me, Mordred. It’s not a desire for _me_ that he has, but a desire for my submission to his authority. Something that will never happen, and therefore something he yearns for. Something impossible.”

“Like… like the Golden Garden and the Silver Garden that will never meet,” Mordred realized, staring at his mother with wide eyes, recalling the story she had told him about the garden.

Arturia nodded, something surprisingly close to sadness flashing through her green eyes.

“Exactly.” She took a deep breath. “That is why I do not want you to follow his example, but just _learn_ from his behaviour. A man like him is always looking for something new, for something impossible to obtain, and he will never reach it. He may come close, but he will never acquire it, and that means that he will always be yearning. Which means, he will never be happy.”

Mordred looked at his mother in silence for a long while.

“May I ask you something about what you just said?”

She nodded her consent, and he carefully straightened himself, staring at her seriously.

“Mother, do you think that if the King actually obtained what he is aiming to find, he would be happy? If he can never be happy because he can’t reach what he wants, then could he be happy if he does?”

Arturia was taken aback by her son’s question, and she pondered over it in silence for a long while.

“I don’t know,” she finally replied. “He is not a man who is satisfied with anything but the very best. If whatever he was trying to achieve then turns out to be inferior to what he expected, he won’t be happy, that’s for certain. Therefore, I assume it depends on what he is attempting to obtain.”

“You,” Mordred replied simply. “He wants _you_ , Mother.”

Arturia didn’t get angry this time. She merely shook her head.

“The King doesn’t want me, Mordred. He has hundreds of concubines–”

“Not necessarily in that way,” Mordred hurriedly interjected, blushing slightly. “He doesn’t want you to leave, and not merely because you are a teacher in the royal palace. He wants your _presence_.”

Arturia sighed.

“That’s quite enough, Mordred.” Her tone was final. “Please call everyone in for the lesson now.”

...

...

_Towards a neverending beginning_

...

...

It was evening. Once the sun set completely, they would sail for England.

All her belonging were already on the ship, and Mordred was already half-asleep, therefore she accompanied him to their cabin and put him to bed. There had been quite a few tearful goodbyes during the afternoon, and it seemed that everything related to their imminent trip back had slightly overwhelmed her son.

Before she could retire as well, the King appeared on the dock, and gestured for her to come to speak with him for a moment. She had still about an hour before the planned departure, therefore she decided she could grant his request.

“Before you leave, you should see the garden one last time.”

Her eyebrows knitted together in slight confusion, but she did not comment. She had already taken her leave from him a few hours earlier, yet this seemed strangely important to him.

As they walked back to the palace, she noticed that they were going through some apartments she had never seen before.

“These are my personal quarters,” he answered her implicit question, and her confusion only grew. “The view of the garden is different from these windows,” he continued, knowing without even looking at her what she had been about to ask.

Once they were at the windows in his bedrooms, the garden was in front of them, shimmering slightly in the evening light.

The sun was about to go down, the moon was already out, and the light that flooded it was completely different from what Arturia had ever witnessed before. The colour she could see in the garden was impossible to describe with accuracy: it wasn’t entirely gold, but it wasn’t entirely silver either.

“It’s both silver and gold,” she breathed, and turned her head to stare at him.

“At the same time,” he completed, staring right back at her.

His expression was very odd, and his hand moved to cup her cheek slowly. She had ample time to move away, to avoid his touch, to refuse the contact – but for once, she chose not to.

Her eyes were locked with his, but a strange, small smile was curving his lips, and the hand on her cheek gently made her look at the garden once again, to take in its beauty, its almost surreal and temporary appearance between day and night.

He leaned forward, his mouth next to her ear as he murmured, “Even the impossible can sometimes be possible.”

“Even the unreachable can be reached,” she replied slowly, realizing in that moment that he must have overheard her talk with Mordred in the classroom.

His hand left her cheek, and he took a step back, offering her his arm when she looked at him.

“Come, the ship awaits you.”

They walked in silence, but instead of it being heavy, this time, for the first time, it was companionable.

Once they were in front of the ship that was going to take her back to England, she turned to face him one last time, and extended her hand to him.

“Don’t keep yearning for something you… we… cannot have.”

She couldn’t be entirely explicit, but her meaning was clear. He stared at her for a long while in silence, then suddenly grasped her hand and shook it firmly.

“I will always treasure it though,” he answered her, the ghost of a smile becoming visible on his face.

The King did not let go of her hand immediately; in fact, he even brought his other hand forward to trap hers firmly between both of his.

“You may expect another letter in a few years,” he told her, a note of smugness in his voice. “My yet unborn children will grow up, and they will need the same excellent teacher their siblings had.”

There was silence for a while before he spoke again. “Perhaps the Golden and Silver Garden will meet again, and stay together for another year,” he added, his voice sounding calm but holding an unwavering promise. “Perhaps even forever.”

Arturia stared straight into his eyes, and brought her free hand to intertwine with his briefly as well, before taking a step back, ceasing all contact between them and giving him a slow, slightly undecided nod.

The small smile on her face was real though, and her voice was steady as she answered, “Perhaps.”

...

...

_Towards the true ending_

...

...


End file.
